Outer perimeter

[Enter Josaline the Red]

The undisturbed peace of the horizon was dissrupted by a party of twenty figures on horseback. Each of them armed and armored, with the notorious Josaline the Red at the front, riding her black stallion. Her plate armor gleamed against the sun as her horse brought her closer and closer to camp Gusto. Her great sword was sheathed against her horse, and she was not wearing the custom mask of the legates. Instead, she opted to let her red hair flow in the wind. The woman observed the camp with a critical eye, inspecting for weaknesses.

The stable condition of the camp would have pleased most officials, though Josaline the Red possessed a more critical mind. Just because a fort looks well equipped and well defended, doesn't mean it isn't festering on the inside. Any morsel of weakness, and the Red would stomp it out, without mercy or hesitation. Raising her fists, the Red signalled her other riders to halt as only herself and Jeniza would ride forth to meet the Centurian.

"Cazzaza I presume."

The Red's trademark grin etches across her face as she looks over the Centurian. He seemed friendly, which was more than enough reason for Josaline to be weary of him. Suspicious even. She flicks her red, silky hair back, revealing her beautiful features.

"Naming a blade is pretty, but useless. I don't waste my time with useless things." She puts it rather bluntly. Gesturing towards his command stick, her grin grows slightly.

"And I'll be taking your command staff. I'm taking charge of your men, and you if you prove yourself worth the pretty armor you wear." Josaline enjoyed toying with people. It was one thing she loved very much about her position.

Her grin never faltered for a moment, she loved it when her prey pathetically tried to fight back.

"And they will have a strong leader. Under your command, I would be utterly shocked if these men could take down a rabble of farmers, let alone Fort Monfort." And now it was time to humiliate the good Centurian. Josaline's watchful eye had not gone to waste, as she has already spotted several weaknesses in Camp Gusto. Gesturing over near the slave pens, the Legate speaks up.

"Your slave pens are set up near an unguarded supply shed. A very ill advised decision, as the slaves could easily make weapons out of the sledgehammers and picks used as mining equipment."

She turns her gaze towards the Balliste.

"Out of the six Balliste protecting the front perimeter, only three of them are manned, and only one is currently loaded. Considering Camp Gusto's forward flank is shrouded by a treeline, a well planned out ambush could wipe out the siege equipment before they could even prepare themselves."

With a flick of her wrist, the red gestures towards one of the watch towers.

"You have watchtowers set up at three critical points in the camp, though the south eastern side by the river is lacking any sort of supervision. If bandits or raiders should plunder our supply lines via the river, we wouldn't know about it until they were long gone. These are all weaknesses I've spotted at a glance, let alone what I may find with a thorough inspection. "

Her hand comes alive with a red magical aura. The command stick is teleported to Josaline's hand, and Cazzaza would feel rather strange. Blood would trickle down his nose, and he would feel too lightheaded to stay atop his horse.

"Do you know why they call me 'the Red'? It's because blades aren't what should be feared, but the person swinging it." She chuckles darkly.

Before the Centurian could collect himself long enough to answer the Tribunus, Josaline decided to answer for him.

"He'll live, if that's what you're worried about." The woman chuckles to herself, before stroking her chin slightly.

"I couldn't help but notice while my magic was coursing through him, that your former commander was born with a defect. A hole in his heart to be precise."

The Red licked her lips as she observed the downed man. Though he wasn't able to respond, he would be able to hear every word she was saying.

"If he ever tries to undermine my authority again, I may have to make that hole a lot bigger."

Grinning and signalling for the rest of her soldiers to follow, the Legate and the Tribunus make their way into the camp.

"For a brief time, yes. I would still be a Centurian to this day if I lacked the stomach to take what is mine."

From the outer perimeter of the base there came a sound that wasn't unknown to the occupants, it was the sound of a trumpeting battle horn. The horn blew a signal that belonged to neither of the three empires but instead to the nuisances of the Crystal Empire's borders, nomadic tribesmen who have come from the steppes where they usually roam to now just beyond the base. Quickly the group of about twenty or so horsemen galloped furiously towards the fortified camp. The garrison knew that if the small number of raiders were to attack they'd be decimated instantly, yet an odd sight occurred as one of the horsemen began to ride ahead of the others waving a white flag.

The entourage escorting the carrier of the banner then quickly halted quite a distance away from the entrance of the base, not so out of range of the base's archers but just enough to be hard targets. The horseman carrying the white flag strode slightly ahead of his comrades and began waving his white flag again, clearly trying to get the attention of the base's garrison.